"Oh, Aunt, don't ask me—I can't go back to the Plain again."
"You can and must—I wouldn't ask you, but I couldn't find the exact spot myself. I'll go down first and have a word with Armitage, and then return to you."
Mrs. Armitage softly unlocked the door of her niece's room, and going first to her own bedroom, washed her ashen face with cold water; she then rubbed it hard with a rough towel to take some of the tell-tale expression out of it. Afterward she stole softly downstairs. Her husband was busy in the taproom. She opened the door, and called his name.
"Armitage, I want you a minute."
"Mercy on us, I thought you were in bed an hour ago, wife," he said. "Why, you do look bad, what's the matter?"
"It isn't me, it's the child—she's hysterical. I've been having no end of a time with her; I came down to say that I'd sleep with Hetty to-night. Good-night, Armitage."
"Good-night," said the man. "I say, wife, though," he called after her, "see that you are up in good time to-morrow."
"Never fear," exclaimed Mrs. Armitage, as she ascended the creaking stairs, "I'll be down and about at six."
She re-entered her niece's bedroom and locked the door.
"How did you get out last night?" she asked.